


Phone Me Up, Phone Me Down

by icedteainthebag



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-10
Updated: 2009-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-21 18:59:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill and Laura have a phone conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phone Me Up, Phone Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Written on a bit of a challenge thrown to me by [](http://tjonesy.livejournal.com/profile)[**tjonesy**](http://tjonesy.livejournal.com/) today. I have admitted defeat, sort of. I hope I have made your phone secksin’ dreams come true, and gave Bill some of the love he... *sigh*... deserves.

_**[bsg] Fic: Phone Me Up, Phone Me Down**_  
 **Title:** Phone Me Up, Phone Me Down  
 **Author:** [](http://icedteainthebag.livejournal.com/profile)[**icedteainthebag**](http://icedteainthebag.livejournal.com/)  
 **Pairing:** Laura/Bill  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word count:** 3,700  
 **Summary:** Bill and Laura have a phone conversation.  
 **Spoilers:** through S1, Tigh Me Up, Tigh Me Down post-ep  
 **Author's Notes:** Written on a bit of a challenge thrown to me by [](http://tjonesy.livejournal.com/profile)[**tjonesy**](http://tjonesy.livejournal.com/) today. I have admitted defeat, sort of. I hope I have made your phone secksin’ dreams come true, and gave Bill some of the love he... *sigh*... deserves.

x x x x

Bill’s lying in his rack as he is normally accustomed to doing in the hour or so before bedtime, his glasses balanced delicately on his nose as he reads _Blood Runs at Midnight_.

His wireless rings and he glances at his clock. Irritated, and only a slight bit concerned, he reaches over and yanks it off the wall. “Commander. And I’m off duty, so this better be good.”

“Are you accepting personal calls?”

He relaxes at the sound of the President’s voice and smiles with relief. “Are the Commander and the President allowed to engage in personal calls?”

She laughs, a quiet, soft laugh. He balances the phone on his shoulder. “Well, if it makes you more comfortable, I could engage you in business matters.”

“Maybe at first.” He feels his smile widen and is glad she can’t see him grinning like an idiot.

“All right. Baltar’s Cylon detector. I’m not at all sure that I trust the technology,” she says, and he can tell she’s trying to sound authoritative. He relaxes back against the head of his rack and finds more humor in it than he should. “There’s something off with that Ellen Tigh, Commander, and I’m not talking about her propensity for the flesh of our youth.”

He laughs. “You noticed Lee too, huh.”

She chuckles, a warm, low tone that intrigues him. “He looked a little overwhelmed.”

He takes off his glasses and sets his book aside. He stretches out his toes and it feels good after a day on his feet. “She’s a handful, Ellen. I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her.”

She laughs, this time a sharp, pointed one. “Something tells me she might enjoy that.”

“Most likely,” he says. He’s beginning to trust the President’s judgment of character more and more, and she’s right about Ellen after just a couple of hours with her. “I’m going to keep my eye on her. I always do.”

“She’s got her eye on you, too.”

He laughs and shifts uncomfortably in his bed. She’s definitely right about Ellen. “Madam President, you’re certainly…”

“I’m what, Commander? Pointing out the obvious? The woman’s a monument to lechery.”

“She makes him happy,” he says, and as much as it pains him sometimes, it’s true. He’s fielded one too many drunken gropes from Ellen to have much respect for her, but if she does one thing right, it’s make Saul Tigh happy.

“Blind love,” she says, repeating her line from dinner. He wonders, for a brief moment, if she’s more familiar with that concept than she’s let on.

“Did you really call me to talk about Ellen Tigh’s propensity for my son?” he asks.

She laughs, a titter of laughter that rings in his ear. “No. Not entirely. I also wanted to…apologize, I suppose, for the way I’ve been acting.”

“How have you been acting?” He knows how she’s been acting, but he wants her to admit it. He smiles and folds his hands over his stomach.

“You’re not going to let me off the hook very easily, are you?”

“Not a chance.” He cracks his knuckles and waits with a smirk. He hears her sigh and pictures her fidgeting as she tries to come up with a way to say she’s been a bitch without actually saying so.

“Okay. Well. Acting suspicious of you. I’ve been overly surreptitious lately.” She says it with a surprising amount of resolve, and then she’s silent.

He lets her sweat it out a few seconds before he responds. “I’ve noticed your surreptitiousness.”

“Well, then, I’m not being as surreptitious as I thought.”

They both laugh. He stretches out his arms. He hadn’t noticed how tense he’d been today, but it comes as no surprise. He’s going to need to work that out later. He quickly banishes the thought from his mind.

“Is there a particular reason why you’ve been distrusting of me lately?” he asks.

He hears her exhale hard. “In these times, I’m not sure anyone’s fully trusting of anyone.”

“No political bullshit.”

She laughs. Again. She’s in an interesting mood tonight and he finds it intriguing. “All right. You’re nothing if you aren’t relentless, Commander.”

“That’s what I hear.” He couldn’t help that one. She laughs, a full-on laugh this time, with a satisfied hmm at the end.

“Well, there’s…no particular reason, I’m concerned about the safety of the fleet, and of course, as you are as responsible for its safety as I am, if not more, it’s my duty, Commander, to ensure that you are indeed trustworthy and have the best interests of the fleet in mind at all times.”

The woman knows how to ramble to make a point. He slides down in his rack a little bit, under the sheets, and cradles the phone more tightly against his shoulder. “I don’t know why you’d question my trustworthiness in the first place.”

“I know.”

He wonders what it will take to build up the President’s trust. He’s not sure what kind of show Adar was running down on Caprica, but it certainly seems to have made her a pretty critical overthinker at times.

“We’re supposed to act as a unified front. We break down, it all breaks down,” he says.

“I guess I’m still getting used to that dynamic, Commander.”

“Well, I will give you a little credit,” he says. “We’re still getting a feel for each other.”

He’s a little surprised at his choice of words, and more specifically, his body’s reaction to them. His brow furrows at the little tingle he feels at the base of his spine at the idea of getting a feel for the President in a more physical sense, and he quickly stops himself from thinking any further than the thought of his hand on her ass. It would be in passing, of course, maybe a time when he means to touch the small of her back to direct her down a corridor and he just plain missed.

She has a pretty nice ass.

“We are,” she admits, bringing him back into the conversation. “We’re still feeling each other out. I agree.”

He takes a deep breath, wondering why the President’s repetition of his words just made his cock twitch inexplicably. Maybe it’s how her voice deepened, just a bit, just enough to make the phrase sound all the more sensual.

He then reminds himself to keep his head. It’s the President, for the sake of the Gods.

“So what are you up to?” she says, a little too brightly, as if she’s trying to change the subject.

“I’m talking to you.”

She laughs, more of a giggle, really. Cock twitch, again. “Before I called and disturbed you.”

“You didn’t disturb me.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

He laughs softly. “I was reading.”

“Wonderful!” she exclaims, too loudly for the wireless line. He cringes at the volume and her odd sense of excitement. “Anything I’d know?”

“Just an old favorite from the collection,” he says. “I’ll have you read it sometime.”

She sighs and he hangs on the sound a little longer than he probably should. “Oh, I’ve neglected to tell you how much I’m enjoying _Dark Day_. Prima’s amazing. I’m a sucker for gritty realism.”

“Then I gave you the right book. I’m not sure it gets more gritty and real than Prima.”

“Mmmm,” she hums in agreement. He takes a deep breath as she continues. “I love the intricate detail of the blood spatter on the walls in Chapter 7. He almost makes it sound like it’s a painting. Like he admires the beauty of it, as horrific as its inception.”

Bill has no idea why President Laura Roslin talking about blood spatter on a wall makes him want to slip his hand under his sheets, inside his boxers, but it does, and so he does, but lets his hand rest just over his semi-hard cock.

“I think he does find a certain beauty in death,” he says. His fingers twitch against his hot skin.

She’s quiet for a moment. He can hear her soft breath on the line. “I can only hope to achieve the same kind of acceptance and appreciation for it someday,” she says. Her voice is soft, and there’s a lot behind it—she has something else to say that she’s not saying, and he doesn’t feel he has the right to ask her what it is. They’re only weeks into this thing, this complicated dance they’ve been forced into, and they’re still stepping on each others’ feet from time to time.

“Likewise,” he says simply.

“So,” she says with a laugh. His eyebrows rise at her laughter. She’s prone to laughing at odd times. He’s gotten used to it, mostly.

“You going to sleep soon?” he offers. He closes his eyes and his fingers dawdle over his cock, reminding him that they’re there.

“Hmm. I hope so. I’m a little high-strung. Today was…”

She falters.

“…overwhelming?” he suggests.

“Yes. Overwhelming. I just need…” He hears her shifting and wonders if she’s sitting at her desk or lying in bed like he is. “I just need to relax. The dinner tonight got me a little wound up, I’ll admit.”

She keeps saying these things that he really shouldn’t be interpreting in the ways that he’s interpreting them. He moves his palm to his inner thigh. It’s safer that way.

“Maybe we should have had a little more ambrosia,” he says. “Take the edge off.”

“I’m not sure we could have gotten our share even if we tried,” she says, and her voice is lower again, and he can hear her smiling. “Though I could have held my own against Ellen if you tried to get that bottle away from Saul.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes, settling his head back on the pillow. “I can only imagine.”

The President is quiet for a long moment. “Can you?”

It’s as if he can practically feel his ears prick up with interest, like some sort of well-trained hunting dog who hears a fox rustling in the bushes. It’s briefly annoying, his instinctual response to the tone of her voice. He’s not used to this. “Can I what?”

“Oh, um,” she says, with another long pause. He hears her sigh over the line. Somehow, his hand is back on his cock. This is also briefly annoying, but also, feels pretty good too. He decides to keep it there with a steadfast resolution to keep it still, at least until he gets off the phone. “Imagine. I don’t know. My Gods, I’m a little flighty tonight. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t drink more.”

They’re quiet again, and he’s surprised it doesn’t feel uncomfortable, just a little titillating. And gradually becoming more titillating. He lets his fingers circle around his cock, still semi-hard in his hand, just for something to do.

“Are you going to sleep?” he asks.

“Oh, do you need me to hang up?” she responds quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need you to hang up. I was just asking you if you were going to sleep any time soon.”

He hears her hum softly, a high-pitched, indecisive hum, and his cock hardens in his hand. He squeezes a little tighter and takes a long, calming breath. “I don’t think so,” she says.

“Too wound up?” he says it without thinking and it makes his heartbeat race. He wonders what she’s doing, and suddenly he’s picturing her, in her little room across the space between their ships, lying on her makeshift bed, maybe in her pajamas, no, maybe in just a pajama top and her panties, maybe lying on top of her sheets, maybe with her hand—

“Yeah,” she says softly. He hears her clear her throat and take a deep breath, then exhale, and there it is again, the soft sound of her breath over the wireless, and he’s getting harder at the sound of her breath and the image of her lying on her bed just like him. Hand down her pants and all.

“Me too,” he admits. He’s not sure what else to say.

“Yeah?” It’s a question now, and she sounds very interested, her voice borderline teasing. “Well, Commander. Listen to us. Two people, very powerful people at that, all wound up, with nowhere to go and nothing to do about it.”

He wants her to mean what it seems like she means. He’s surprised how badly he wants this. He closes his eyes and runs his thumb over the head of his cock, shivering in response.

“There has to be something we can do about it,” he says, his thumb pressing more intently down, his hand firmly gripping his now-hard cock. He pictures her lying back on her bed, her red hair disheveled and fanned out over her pillow. Maybe she’s biting her lip and letting her long, agile fingers play over the smooth insides of her thighs.

“I’m sure,” she says, and she sounds a little breathless for a moment. “I’m sure there’s something we can do to remedy the situation at hand.”

Her choice of words nearly makes him groan out loud. He grits his teeth and holds back. He feels a drop of fluid under his thumb and spreads it over his silken skin, sending a tingle up his spine. “Madam President,” he murmurs as he lets his hand stroke his cock, one slow stroke upward, pulling gently, thinking about how gorgeous she must look with her hand between her legs, tracing the silken fabric that’s most likely damp, right there, waiting for him.

“Yes, Commander?” she says, her voice low, and it’s nearly a purr, and he’s never heard her sound like that. It sends a small shock from his abdomen up to his head.

“I don’t know what you’re doing right now--” he starts.

“Is Dualla logging your wireless yet?” she interrupts.

“I haven’t given the order to reinstate the call log,” he says, his heart beating faster.

“Good,” she replies. “Therefore, as for what I’m doing right now…I’m just going to keep doing it.” Her voice is slightly sharp. She giggles at the end, a breathless giggle that makes his cock grow harder, as if that was at all possible. “You keep doing it, too.”

She just told him what to do.

And he liked it.

She does odd things to him he can’t explain.

“Okay.” He strokes himself again, his hand lingering over every inch of sensitive skin. He thinks back to his daydream President, the one who has just slipped her fingers under the side of her panties and is now checking to see how very wet she is, obviously from thinking about him all day. Probably from arguing with him in Baltar’s lab. He wonders if she’s shaved, or trimmed, or if she actually does anything at all, and the mere question makes him audibly groan before he catches himself.

“Gods,” he says, his teeth gritted as he feels himself blush.

“Mmmm,” she hums back into the phone, and that hum. That hum. “No. Please. Don’t be…just…”

He hears a small moan from the other end of the line, a quiet, breathy moan, as if she’s granting him permission to continue with his thoughts and his actions.

“What are you doing?” he asks softly. He squeezes himself as he strokes his cock upward, then wraps his palm over the head of it and twists gently, thinking about her mouth—the curl of her lips, the smirk she give him sometimes when she’s less than pleased. Those gorgeous lips, the pink tip of her tongue that flicks out over her upper lip when she’s thinking. She probably doesn’t even realize she does it, nor does she realize how much he wants to feel it trace the bottom vein of his cock.

He runs his finger down the underside of his cock and thinks about her tongue, wet and lapping at his length like a kitten lapping at cream, about her eyes locked with his, about her eyebrow arched skeptically at the idea of submitting to him.

“I don’t know if I can say,” she responds, sounding suddenly shy. The tentativeness in her voice makes him grab himself in a tight fist, pumping a little more intently now. He imagines the heat of her mouth as he slides his cock into it, the silk of her hair twisted around his fingers as she sucks him deep, moans trapped in the back of her throat.

“Come on,” he breathes. “Tell me.”

She makes a whimpering sound, as if she’s resisting at first, but it would surprise him if she didn’t resist a little bit. “Gods,” she breathes, barely audible. “I…my hand, my fingers, right there, you know where.”

“Tell me.” He’s more firm now, and he slows down his stroking and cups his balls, squeezing gently, sliding his fingers over the sensitive skin. He thinks about how she’d look as she sucks each of them into her mouth while her hand stroked his cock. His jaw sets and he sucks in a deep breath as he hears her moan softly with a pant.

“I’m wet.” She takes a sharp breath. “Wet, so wet, and my fingers are circling, right there.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, and he pictures her lying back, her hips moving with her fingers, and he wonders, if he listens close enough, if he can hear how wet she is as she touches herself.

“Are you doing it?” she breathes.

“Yeah,” he answers as he spits on his palm and slides it up the hot, hard skin of his cock. He bites his upper lip and lets out a small grunt as he thinks about the silk of her folds on his tongue, about whether the President tastes sweet or bitter, but she’s probably both. She would writhe under his tongue and dig her heels into his shoulder blades and cry out when he sucked on her clit and held it between his lips.

“Oh, Gods,” she whispers. He can hear her short, soft breaths and what is probably the brush of her cheek against the receiver. “Are you thinking of me?”

She’d be so hot when he slid inside her for the first time, and she’d arch her back to him and wrap those long, smooth legs around his waist and cling to him, inside and out, from the first thrust to the last.

“Yeah,” he growls, and his hand is moving faster now. The friction is almost too much, but he thinks it must be like her, tight and pulling him deep, her fingernails scratching his back as she tries to command him, even while he has her on her back begging for more.

He listens to every pant and moan and they get louder as she seems to become surer of herself, and he responds back by letting her hear his own moans and ragged breath.

“You sound so…” she breathes, “Oh, Gods, yeah.”

“Frak,” he growls as he feels his orgasm building, swirling in his balls, a sweet kind of torture. “I want you around me, so tight, hot, yeah…”

“More,” she breathes, and this is her begging, and this is the voice he would hear whispering in his ear while he pounded into her, her breasts pressed against his chest, his hands in the mess of her hair.

“You want it harder?” he manages, his voice low as he groans. His hips rise. He’s so frakkin’ close.

“Yes,” she says, resolutely through her breathlessness, and she whimpers and takes a deep breath. “Yes, harder, please, Commander…”

That’s all it takes. He groans and thrusts his hips up, imagining her capturing the motion of his hips, her back arching and body twisting as she cries out and he comes inside her, not all over his hand, not all over his boxers, but inside of the President, hot and slick.

She answers him with her own loud whimper, and she whispers a jumble of words— _Oh Gods, Oh Gods, yes, please, yes_ —on a breath right before she cries out sharply.

He hears a clatter and it’s loud in his ear. She dropped the phone.

She dropped the phone when she came.

His shorts are a mess.

Reality hits quickly, and he opens his eyes to his rack, his reading light still on, and he is alone.

He hears her clamoring for the phone and her soft laugh when she retrieves it.

“Oh, Gods, I’m so sorry,” she says quickly, out of breath. She giggles again and it sounds muffled, like she’s pressing her face into a pillow. He smiles and pulls his hand out from his shorts, wiping it on the sheets. Frak it.

“It’s fine,” he says. He can’t help but laugh. “Otherwise, this would just be awkward.”

“Hmmm,” she murmurs. He hears the phone rub against her cheek again. “Do you think it’s awkward?”

“No,” he admits. And it seems odd that it isn’t. “But I can’t say I won’t look at you a little differently tomorrow.”

“Oh, my Gods,” she says. “Don’t. Please. We’re adults. We can act normally. We have to act normally. Professionally.”

“I’ll try,” he answers. He closes his eyes.

“You’d better do more than try,” she commands with a giggle. “Nothing’s changed. You hear me? I’m still the President, you’re still the Commander of this fleet. This was just a temporary indiscretion.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he responds, feeling a little drowsy. He could get up and change his shorts, but then again, he’s slept in worse places with worse things on his hands.

“Commander, are you falling asleep on me?” She’s teasing him, feigning anger.

“Yeah.” He chuckles.

She huffs. “You’re such a man. You’re all the same, you know.”

“Mmmmh.” He could stay on the phone with her like this all night. He breathes deeply. “Are you still wound up? I thought you got all that out of your system.”

“I’m a woman,” she says, and there’s that low voice again, the one he’s starting to adore. “We can go more than once. I’ll address that issue, and I’ll see _you_ tomorrow.”

He chuckles as she hangs up on him, hangs up his phone, then drifts off to sleep.

  



End file.
